


Of Toys and Tails

by thearkwrites



Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearkwrites/pseuds/thearkwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thunderhoof has an itch he can't scratch, as per Steeljaw's orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Toys and Tails

**Author's Note:**

> Because there isn't enough Dom!Steeljaw and/or Sub!Thunderhoof in this world.

Today, Thunderhoof seemed even crankier than usual. None of the other members of the Pack thought it was possible for his already horrible temper to worsen. Then Airazor cracked a harmless joke about the Cervicon's helm finials and nearly met the business end of a cloven pede. It took both Fracture and Underbite to quell Thunderhoof's violent outburst; in itself no small feat given how foul a mood the mob boss was in. Airazor was badly shaken, Divebomb was stunned to silence, Fracture was ready to spill energon, Underbite was attempting to keep the peace, Clampdown had scuttled off to Primus-knows-where and Thunderhoof was having none of it.

“Forget all a yous!” He bellowed as he stormed off. Heavy pedefalls and off-color obscenities followed him, echoing across the base and ringing in the audials of everyone present.

“Yeesh! What's his problem?” Underbite wondered aloud over the noise. He turned to his companions for answers but they appeared just as baffled.

Fracture, in particular, had an equal amount of fury mixed in with his confusion. “Who even knows what goes through the processor of that drama queen?” He snarled dismissively then threw a final glare in Thunderhoof's direction. His anger now simmering and sated, Fracture began to focus his energies on comforting his Minicon.

“Who's a drama queen?” Steeljaw demanded, making his reappearance after an entire day's absence.

Fracture greeted the wolf-con with a look of barely restrained ire. “Who do you think?” Came the rasp through tightly ground dentae.

The salvaged energon cubes in Steeljaw's arms were placed onto the stockpile with an understanding, “ _Ah_.” He turned on his heels and was approached by two purple mechs, each with something to say.

“Somethin's eatin' the 'Hoofster, and it's eatin' him _bad_.” Underbite explained. Irritation seemed to be Thunderhoof's default emotional state but even he wasn't that irritable without a good reason. Whatever it was that had the mob boss out of sorts, it was Steeljaw who could and would find a solution. Underbite continued. “Dunno what it is—”

“And we don't care. That type of behavior's just unprofessional.” Fracture cut in as he dismissed Airazor and Divebomb, sweet energon bites clutched between their claws. He watched them sit down in a corner and consume their treats with gusto before he resumed speaking. “Talk to him, Steeljaw. You're the only one who ever could.”

Steeljaw considered their statements impassively, ears and tail twitching with an intention neither Fracture nor Underbite could read. “If it has the both of you concerned...” He said slowly then stopped. Tipping his helm upwards to take in a deep invent, Steeljaw let out a thoughtful hum. His yellow optics glinted. “Yes. I believe I shall talk to him.” It was said with a roll of the shoulders and crick of the neck.

“It would be improper, after all, if I were to ignore whatever problems my associates were facing.”

* * *

Steeljaw found Thunderhoof lying on his berth, cheek pressed against the covers and aft in the air.

“Thunderhoof.”

The Cervicon perked up at the mention of his name. Shuttered optics cracked open to gaze at the visitor. Desire burned underneath the red optics—desire for release, and desire for the mech they focused on. With every rise and fall of his breath, Thunderhoof's bountiful rump swayed enticingly. With coolant beads gathering on his armor and protoflesh, the tremors running through his frame became even more obvious. With the light of the room glowing its brightest, the lubricants seeping out from the seams of his interface panel and down his thighs grew visible. 

“Please.” Thunderhoof whispered.

Gone were the bluster and petulance that the mob boss was known for; here was a mech who wanted nothing more than to be fragged into the ground. A picture of depravity if there ever was one.

Steeljaw was not moved by the submissive display, if his sneer was anything to go by. He leaned against the door jamb. “You've been a very bad boy, Thunderhoof.” He stated as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Dark-blue digits clutched at coolant-soaked blankets. The breathing grew hoarser. “Steeljaw, please.” Thunderhoof sounded desperate.

Steeljaw knew better; Thunderhoof _was_ desperate.

All the better to prolong his agony, the wolf-con decided. “ 'Please', what, Thunderhoof?” He returned. “ 'Please forgive me for very nearly shedding an associate of his mortal coil in a fit of uncontrollable rage'? 'Please give me another chance to prove that I'm not some witless lout, some volatile brute in harness to his own caprices'? 'Please allow me the chance to issue an apology for my earlier, unwarranted behavior in the only way I know how'? What is it you're begging for, Thunderhoof?” Woefully stilted, verbose turn of phrase was never really all that appealing to Steeljaw, but it still had its uses under the right circumstances. For example, making a special Cervicon writhe impatiently and pitifully.

Thunderhoof closed his optics and nearly sobbed out, “Steely...”

Steeljaw's lip-components drew back in a snarl, exposing sharpened dentae. “Pathetic. Is this really what you're like behind closed doors? What would your cronies say if they could see you now?” He closed the door then crossed the room to position himself behind Thunderhoof.

Arousal radiated off the frame, pungent and unmistakable.

The smell drove Steeljaw to edge the gray thighs apart with his claws. Those same digits skittered upwards and spread Thunderhoof's ample cheeks, exposing delicate under-armor that Steeljaw was more than familiar with. The fresh coat of paint did little to cover up the scars created by countless use. Some were old, from his days as a call mech specializing in gladiators, but most were new and etched onto the plating by Steeljaw and his many wiles. 

He realized then—with great amusement—that most of the newer scars were focused in the aft area of Thunderhoof's interface panelling. A telling sign of where most of their couplings transpired. It was most fortunate then that Thunderhoof loved being taken in the aft more than his valve...and that he took great pleasure in being dominated in the berth. At the memories of their numerous 'facing sessions, Steeljaw's own spike thudded heavily against the protective pelvic armor.

No. 

Not yet. Release would come soon.

For now, he had other matters to attend to.

Steeljaw vented. It took all of his willpower to keep his voice even. “Open up.”

Thunderhoof did as he was told. His sigh of relief was barely heard over the hiss of interface covering retracting.

Steeljaw watched in silence as a peculiar object entered his line of sight. Not even the gush of lubricants from a slickened valve could draw his attention away from the Cervicon's exhaust port. Embedded deep within the stretched-out channel was a false spike of considerable size; attached to the false spike was an extension molded to resemble the tuft-like tail of an Earth deer.

It completed Thunderhoof's image perfectly, thought Steeljaw. Ever since he learned that Thunderhoof had his own tail surgically removed long ago—for “personal reasons[1]”, the Cervicon claimed—Steeljaw had become bent on seeing his lover with one. Replantation was not a viable option for them given their present circumstance, so a false spike with that custom attachment would have to do for now. The finest creation of a mech with a working knowledge of molding. Steeljaw felt pride blossom within his spark—a pride that was quickly replaced by lust once took notice of how wet Thunderhoof had become.

Unable to resist any longer, Steeljaw leaned forward to pinch it between his digits. The light vibrations elicited a sharp gasp from the wolf-con.

“My, oh my, Thunderhoof.” He trilled as he relished the pleasant reverberations against his digit-tips. “Is _this_ what's been making you so...” Pushing the toy a little deeper into the puffy rim caused Thunderhoof to moan and Steeljaw to smile. “... _unpleasant_?”

“Damn thing...just started...vibratin'...” Thunderhoof bit out between ragged moans.

Steeljaw gasped again. “ _Oh_.” He reached into his arm compartment and produced a small ovoid item. His optics focused on the dial on its side. “So it _does_ work.”

“Like...a charm...” Thunderhoof said before he begged once more. “Steely, please.” His voice was pinched and shaking, thick with need. The voice of a mech so close yet so far from a devastating overload. “Take it out and fuh—frag me in the aft.”

The decorated helm twisted slightly to peer at Steeljaw. A heavy-lidded, glazed-over stare pleaded with the wolf-con to concede to the request. There was nothing Steeljaw enjoyed more after a long, hard day than to rail the mob boss with impunity. He was a mech with a plethora of needs, and those needs just so happened to coincide with those of Thunderhoof; he wanted to be fragged hard, and Steeljaw wanted to do hard fragging. As such, it stood to reason that Steeljaw would give in eventually, no matter how angry he was at the Cervicon.

Or so Thunderhoof hoped.

The look Steeljaw was giving him portended otherwise.

“Hmm...” Steeljaw played with the switch as he thought it over. “...no. I don't think so.”

Red optics flew wide open. “ _What_?” The submissive act crumbled away. Thunderhoof's old bravado flooded back into him. “Why you—”

“I wasn't done talking.”

Steeljaw turned the dial on his remote, Thunderhoof hissed then keened. He buried his faceplate into the covers to stifle an emerging scream. The vibrations—now an audible thrum—pushed him over the edge while Steeljaw looked on.

“You almost killed Fracture's Minicon. You almost cost me an invaluable ally. Just because I decided to test out the efficacy of your new toy?” His tone took on a practiced air of concern, even as his features remained stony. “And still you have the gall to demand that I indulge you in your favorite activity? Forgive me if I can't bring myself to abide by your request.” He drawled as he pocketed the remote once more.

Thunderhoof craned his helm upwards. “Please!”

“No.”

At that, Steeljaw's interface panelling drew back to reveal a fully erect spike. Claws dug into Thunderhoof's hips, keeping him still and steady as Steeljaw cleaved into the lubed valve in one thrust. With Thunderhoof already primed, he didn't need to go in easy and resumed a punishing pace almost immediately. 

The supple inner valve walls that clamped down greedily on his length proved to be a small challenge, making motion near impossible. Thunderhoof was tight, oh so tight, thanks to a small number of modifications he had done to his interface array. Modifications or not, Steeljaw soldiered on and pounded into the Cervicon with all his might, spurned on by the delighted sounds escaping from Thunderhoof's intake.

“ _Harder! Steely, please! Harder!_ ”

“That...” Steeljaw paused to smack both of Thunderhoof's aft-cheeks. “...I can do.”

The clamor of plating smashing against plating, of fans roaring at a near-deafening pitch, did little to drown out Thunderhoof's moans of ecstasy and Steeljaw's determined growls.

It was amazing seeing and hearing Thunderhoof like this. A hard spike in his throbbing valve, a toy in his hot exhaust port and a domineering persona belonging to his favorite lover had reduced Thunderhoof to the mewling, panting mess bucking wantonly into Steeljaw's thrusts. All this combined drove Steeljaw to go harder and faster than ever before. 

His fervor ensured that Steeljaw didn't last long. As he felt the impending overload ready to burst out of him, Steeljaw buried himself in Thunderhoof's valve until his spike base connected with the valve rim. Steeljaw threw his helm back and unleashed a loud, triumphant howl, and it was at that moment that the wolf-con released deep inside Thunderhoof. Long, thick spurts of transfluids rapidly filled up the other's channel and seeped outwards, spilling onto the covers.

The Cervicon followed right after his lover, shaking and wheezing and watching static burst across his vision.

* * *

“See?” Steeljaw purred smugly as he peeled himself from Thunderhoof and sat upright. Coolant dripped from his frame and protoflesh, yet he couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. “Now, that wasn't so bad was it?”

The smile left his faceplate when Thunderhoof extricated the toy from his aft and threw it at the lupine helm.

“The next time yous decide to figure out what your toy can do, yous might wanna warn me about it first!” Thunderhoof bellowed, cheeks blue and nerves obviously frazzled.

“I warned you I was going to test it out within the day.” Steeljaw coolly answered as he placed his creation at the end of their berth. He gazed at Thunderhoof with a surprising tenderness in his optics. “Your close call with Airazor aside, you clearly enjoyed yourself.” His stare briefly flickered downwards, to the transfluids and lubricant staining the spot where Thunderhoof was now seated.

The larger mech snorted. “Well, yeah, _doy_! Who wouldn't?”

“My dear, most mechs aren't nearly as adventurous as you.” Steeljaw pointed out then scooted closer to Thunderhoof, his tail gently swaying back and forth as he did.

“Their loss.” Thunderhoof gave the wolf-con a tired smile. A slight twist of his body signalled for the other to lean against the bulkier frame. The both of them were exhausted, but not so exhausted that they couldn't spare a few more minutes of sweet talking. “That just means that I get to have yous all to myself.”

Steeljaw sighed, closing his optics. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> ** Footnotes **
> 
> * * *
> 
> **[1]** Steeljaw is privy to the fact that “Personal Reasons” is another nickname for Thunderhoof's old boss and first serious lover. “Don Tripod” is another that Thunderhoof uses whenever he feels like annoying Steeljaw.


End file.
